The supply ship ramps up its drive and vanishes from my screen.
I squeeze the mic.
“Beacon 1529? This is beacon 23. You read me? Over.”
I wait.
There’s no response.
I switch my scanner back to get a visual on the beacon.
The lifeboat is still there. Still attached.
“Go ahead.”
The words are clipped. Came when I wasn’t paying attention. But it was her. I’m pretty sure it was her. Pretty sure.
“Claire?” I ask.
“Go ahead,” she answers.
I take a deep breath. I steady myself with one hand on the dash. Cricket is there, leaning against me. She puts her mouth on my arm and squeezes, threatening to bite me if I make the wrong move.
“I know,” I tell Cricket. “We both do.”
And I can’t remember the last time I said the words and meant them like this. Can’t remember the last time.
But I’ll always remember this one.